


Kiss me (Like you wanna be loved)

by blueangel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueangel/pseuds/blueangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At some point she had started to think about how his hands would feel on her- had started to wonder what his mouth would taste like; would it be bitter like the black coffee he takes in the morning, or would it be sweet like the mint gum he chews when he is craving for a cigarette? Would his hair be as soft as she imagined it would be?</p>
<p>Somewhere in some way she had started to see Jon differently and had crossed a line.  </p>
<p>God help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss me (Like you wanna be loved)

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally got this done. I have to say that I'm not completely satisfied with, but with my writing I never usually am.

When Robb dies he leaves a widow behind, not to mention their mother, brothers, and a sister.

He left her behind to.

 Sansa is twenty-three years old: newly graduated, unemployed, has just committed her mother to a psychiatric hospital- having seen her eldest son shot point blank by a masked gunman, and more than anything she wanted to go back to her apartment that she shared with Mya and curl beneath her comforter and cry. She doesn’t want to deal with Aunt Lysa or Uncle Edmure- doesn’t need their pitying stares and hovering. What she wants and needs is for Robb to not be dead. He was the only one she could talk to, he was the one who had played princesses with her when they were little and never complained when she made him play tea party with her; he was the one, that when she left Joffrey, he offered her a place to stay so she wouldn’t have to go back home- he was the one she leaned on when her life had gone to utter crap.  He was her big brother. And fuck, what was she going to do now that he was gone?

It’s been three years since she’s been home, and only yesterday she had helped Jeyne pack the rest of her brother’s things.

Rickon and Bran are still living at home and she is determined to keep them there, because as much as she loves Robin the last thing she needs is for them to start living with Aunt Lysa. They are family and they should stay together. Even if Bran doesn’t speak much anymore and more often than not Rickon comes home drunk and whenever she reprimands him he tells her, ‘’You are not my mother,’’ and that brings tears to her eyes to think of where there mother really is. That’s when she lets him stomp up the stairs- lets Bran deal with him.

Sansa is twenty-three years old and trying to keep it all together- even when it feels like the floor is crumbling beneath her feet.

* * *

 

Jon shows up two days before the funeral with a duffle bag in his hand and a White Shepherd dog at his side that he calls Ghost.

‘’Can I come in?’’ He says evenly, at her nod he enters the house and drops his duffle bag on the floor.

 They don’t hug.

She has never been close to Aunt Lyanna’s adopted son, and even after she had died he had only stayed with them for two years before going off to college and god knows where he’s been all this time- but he and Robb had been as close as brothers, and she can see the sadness in his eyes when he looks at her; it makes the pain of losing Robb all the more real- all the more raw.

His arrival prompts Rickon and Bran to come out of their rooms and Arya to come over to the house with Gendry in toe- a feat she had not even managed. Sansa listens as Jon speaks about his time in the Navy, talking about the places he’s been while she makes dinner. It makes her feel a million years older than she is; to see them all crowding around the table laughing.

When she sets the table for dinner Jon gets up and takes the plates from her, ‘’I can do that.’’

‘’No, you must be tired-‘’ She insists but Jon waves her off and sets the table. It’s so nice to have help that she doesn’t push it.

When they all sit down for dinner that night Sansa ignores the empty seats and instead let’s herself get lost in the hum of the conversation, and pretend that her heart isn’t breaking.

* * *

 

Jon eases into their life; breathing life into the house- bringing them together in a way that Sansa hadn’t been able to do. It makes her resent him, that he hasn’t been here for years and he can still walk into her family’s life and try to make everything better- it isn’t fair, and yet…Jon shares a load of responsibilities that had previously only been Sansa’s. It tears her in two until she barley speaks to him, except for on funeral matters.

‘’Are you alright?’’ Arya asks, her sister looking at her with worry, something that Sansa has only seen a handful of times, and it has never been directed towards her. It serves as another reminder of how distant she and Arya really are.

‘’I’m fine,’’ Sansa answers automatically. She hears her sister snort behind her and then the pen that was once in her hand is plucked from her grasp. She pushes down the annoyance and turns to her sister.

‘’Arya-’’ Sansa starts, but her sister is smirking and already leading her towards the door, pulling Sansa along with surprising strength. 

‘’We are going out tonight,’’ Arya proclaims, tossing Sansa her coat even as she protests. ‘’ And you are going to get drunk, because you need to relax, and the only way you do that it is with tequila.’’

Arya takes her to a questionable looking bar run by a friend, or a friend of a friend-she isn’t quite sure. It doesn’t matter when Arya starts pouring shots.

As glass after glass gets put down on the counter Sansa starts to forget everything that has happened in the last few weeks; she laughs and flirts, and forgets what it means to be the oldest Stark sibling now. It’s freeing and she knows that’s what will make it all more devastating when she wakes up tomorrow morning.

She doesn’t know what time it is, but soon enough Arya is clutching her as she stumbles out of the bar and into the car; the glass cool against her forehead as she slouches in her seat. Sansa doesn’t think Arya had a single drink all night.

It is up to her sister to walk her to the door, and then it is Jon that carries her to her room; all the while her head is spinning and she is babbling things that she knows she won’t remember in the morning. It is Jon that takes off her shoes and tucks her in.

It is Jon that holds her hair as she vomits into the bathroom toilet.

 The next morning Sansa wakes to a blinding headache and the feeling of cotton balls in her mouth with only a vague recollection of what happened the previous night, only to find a glass of water on her nightstand and a bottle of aspirin.

She and Jon don’t talk about it, but Sansa sometimes gets the feeling that she talked about Robb- about Joffrey; about things that she’s buried deep enough in her mind that she doesn’t let herself think about it- let alone speak.

It’s just another reason she doesn’t talk to him.

* * *

 

The funeral is somber, what funeral isn’t?

She doesn’t cry, doesn’t have any tears left in her; so she keeps her eyes on the closed casket and drowns out the priest’s words until Arya is squeezing her hand and leading Sansa through the parade of greeting those who had attended, and hearing their condolences.

Sansa glances at Jeyne from the corner of her eye as the older woman kisses Myrcella Baratheon on the cheek. How strange it must be for them, these two women who had loved her brother. Myrcella and Robb had dated, Sansa knew, and even after they had broken up they had remained good friends, and then her brother had met Jeyne. Robb had once told her that everything just clicked with Jeyne, and within six months Jeyne Westerling had become Jeyne Stark. They had been so happy especially when Jeyne became pregnant, because both of them had tried for so long to have a baby, nearly breaking them apart more than once, and now …it seemed that god had a sense of humor- a cruel one at that. 

At the Wake everyone talks in quiet tones, except Theon, who was already half drunk.

As she goes around the house she begins to hear the whispers. People say she’s strong, that her brother and father would be proud of her, and it’s in that moment that it’s suddenly all too _real_.

Sansa quietly excuses herself and leaves the house, rushing outside to the backyard as she lets out choked up sobs and takes off her heels, feeling the damp grass soak into her tights.

There is a spot at the back of the house, deep into the woods, where she hasn’t been since she was a child. It’s there that she sits beneath one of the giant oaks, and watches as the red leafs fall into the pond next to it. She thinks back to when she only six and Robb and Theon had raked the leafs while she had played with her dolls, and when they had all but been done they had picked her up and tossed her into the pile. She had been so angry at them. It makes her laugh now, makes it a little easier to breathe.

Sansa starts back to the house when it gets too cold and it’s almost too dark to see. By then everyone has gone, and she feels guilty for leaving by himself, but when she goes into kitchen he is doing the dishes; not even acknowledging her when she sits down at the table.

‘’I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have runaway like that.’’ She traces the grooves on the table, hearing the sounds of dishes clinking and cupboards opening, until finally a hot mud of tea is set down in front of her.

‘’It’s alright,’’ he says as she takes a sip from the cup. ‘’Everyone needs to get away sometimes.’’ There is understanding in his eyes and she realizes that this is his brand of comfort. It’s not suffocating like her Uncle’s or constricting like her aunt’s- it is in the small gestures, like a cup of tea.

‘’Thank you’’ she says quietly.

* * *

 

Months pass and the world spins on; life turns into a monotonous routine.

Sansa finds a job at a local paper, and though Mr. Lannister isn’t the ideal boss, the pay is good and she enjoys the writing.

Jon passes his exams and gets a job at the Police department.

They both take turns with the chores and taking Bran to his doctor’s appointments, making sure Rickon doesn’t skip school. Their lives become so intertwined that Sansa doesn’t realize it until it’s too late.

It is only one night when they are both weaving in and out of the kitchen trying to get everything ready for a family dinner that she suddenly stops. 

‘’Everything alright, Sansa?’’ Jon asks.

Sansa bites her lip before a laugh bubbles out and she nearly drops the basket of bread that she had been holding in her hand.

‘’I’m fine,’’ Sansa lets out a giggle and goes to the dining room, nearly in hysterics as she places the basket on the table before sitting in her chair. ‘’It’s just…if anyone told me that this is what my life would be, I would have never believed them.’’ She sobers as Jon frowns.

‘’You know you could sell the house, move out. I don’t think Bran and Rickon would mind.’’ Silence settles around them as Sansa takes in his words, a sickening feeling making its way into her stomach.

‘’No,’’ she says abruptly. ‘’ I think it’s best for everyone if we stay here for now. What I said before…I didn’t mean it-I mean I’m okay here. It’s not what I planned, not in the slightest, but I’m happy. Are you happy Jon?’’

A shadow passes over his face before he gives her a slight smile. ‘’I’m happy as I can be.’’ His tone has the slightest hint of weariness to it, and she can’t help but wince.

Sometimes Jon is just too serious. She thinks he carries a load on his shoulders, that Jon thinks that he’s responsible for everyone and everything. Usually that’s when she takes charge and orders him to go watch T.V. with Rickon, or go out with Theon, because he deserves it.

She is about comment when Rickon and Bran come in with their plates full, so she tucks her worries to the back of her mind and tells herself that they’ll have the conversation later.

* * *

 

‘’Mum,’’ she whispers. Catelyn Stark’s face shows no signs of knowing her, not even when Sansa touches her cheek.

Her mother had always been beautiful, even more so than Cersei Lannister, but now she hardly recognizes the woman before her. Now Catelyn Stark’s face is ghost like with her hallow cheeks and pale complexion, her eyes and mouth wrinkled, and a long scar that stretched across her temple.

Sansa knows losing father and grandfather wasn’t easy for her mother, and now with Robb…it is as if her mother is now lost the world completely. It’s not fair. She shouldn’t have to deal with everything; shouldn’t have to carry this kind of weight on her shoulders.

‘’Please mom, I need you. _Please_ ,’’ Sansa pleads, gripping her mother’s hand. It’s no use though, it never is. Whatever is left of her mother is now somewhere deep down; it’s nowhere she can reach.

Suddenly, she just feels too old.

‘’The doctors don’t think she’ll get any better,’’ she says over tea that night. Sansa doesn’t look up from her mug, but she can feel Jon’s gaze on her and slowly he takes her hand, and without meaning to Sansa sniffles.

Jon doesn’t tell her it will alright, because he’s honest and he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean. Instead he holds her as she cries on his shoulder, her tears soaking his t-shirt and her hands fisting the fabric.

She clings to him, close enough to smell soap and sweat, closer still that she knows that she feels safe with him.

* * *

 

Everything changes after that, or she changes, is more accurate.

 It is a simple indulgence-or a not so simple one. At some point she had started to think about how his hands would feel on her- had started to wonder what his mouth would taste like; would it be bitter like the black coffee he takes in the morning, or would it be sweet like the mint gum he chews when he is craving for a cigarette? Would his hair be as soft as she imagined it would be?

 

Somewhere in some way she had started to see Jon differently and had crossed a line.  

 

God help her.

* * *

 

Sansa comes home late one night to find Jon not with a cup of tea, but a bottle of whiskey- tears tracking down his face and an empty look in his eyes.

She doesn’t hesitate as she goes to him, cradling his face in her hands. It occurs to her that she has never seen him mourn not truly. He has held Arya as she pounded her fists against her; held her as she sobbed into his chest, and she has watched as Jon had wrestled Rickon to the ground when he was in one of his foul tempers and held him down until he her brother had calmed down.

Jon had never shown his grief- never shared it. Had she been so selfish?

‘’Oh Jon,’’ Sansa sighs, and without a thought leans down and brushes her lips against his. She thinks he says her name before letting out a choked moan and pulling her into his lap, his lips bruising hers; desperation mingling with their tears.

He has torn through every wall she has built, and picked apart every piece of armor that she has placed around herself. Maybe it was time she did the same to him.

Jon’s hands bite into her hips and clutch at her hair while she nearly whimpers when he nips at her lip- but his is not about her.

With soft hands she cards her fingers through his hair and caresses his cheeks; breaking kisses long enough to whisper soothing words across his lips until his hands loosen, and he is pliant in her arms.

Suppressing a shudder as his breath whispers across her collarbone Sansa tells herself that is what he needs. This is what she can give.

* * *

 

‘’I think it’s time for me to leave,’’ Jon says the next morning. He doesn’t meet her gaze.

‘’Please don’t,’’ this time she tilts his chin up and makes him meet her eyes. ‘’Please.’’

Sansa sees the guilt but she can also see what he wants, what she wants. That is why she can see him break; because they are the same.

She smiles and places a kiss on his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a line in the song ''Kiss me'' by Ed Sheeran


End file.
